


A Study In High School

by Lady_Anon_x



Series: I Always Hear "Punch Me in the Face." [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, BAMF John, Depressed Sherlock, First Kiss, M/M, Self-Harm, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, i feel bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Anon_x/pseuds/Lady_Anon_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Freak" The name follows Sherlock everywhere to the point where Sherlock self-harms. But what happens when the new guy, John Watson, gets involved?<br/>(OK... this fic has taken a completely different turn on me. The story is not going where I want it to and It's really difficult for me to write BUT I am not abandoning it... I will just change it a lot. Very sorry!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pfft of course I own Sherlock... *Looks away nervously* OK maybe I don't but I can dream can't I?  
> Any mistakes I do apologise for.  
> The italics are Sherlock's thoughts, just in case you get confused. Don't worry guys, I've got you! :)

New year

New school

New people

Same nickname.

“Get out of the way freak!” One of the boys shouted in passing, pushing Sherlock into the lockers making him drop his books. That's all he ever was and always will seem to be, the _freak_. Sighing he reached down and started to collects all the pages and books that were now scattered on the floor. No one stopped to help, why would they? Help him? Sherlock Holmes? Were you mad? Sherlock didn't want or need any help for that matter, standing back up straight he slowly started walking to the music room.

It was the first week of school and already he was the school freak. Well it's hardly his bloody fault he's so observant. Maybe if everyone wasn't so incredibly dull and stupid he might not humiliate them as much. Sherlock was entering his last year of A Levels, he was doing 5 which was fairly impressive, Chemistry, Maths, Biology, IT and Music (Mummy's idea). He moved slowly down the hallway, making his way down to the other end of the school. As much as he enjoyed chemistry, music was quickly becoming his favourite subject, he could block everyone out and focus on the melody.

_Oh come on, not again!_

He thought to himself as Anderson shoved him against the wall the rest of his gang just smiling and laughing, “You better take back what you said yesterday freak!” he snarled at Sherlock. Still he tried not to stutter in front of them, but he was cut off from replying when Sally Donovan butted in, “Hey freak, still lonely as ever I see.” Sherlock just smirked, “Hello Sally, not make it home last night?” _There it is, he inwardly smiled._ Sally was dumbstruck, not that that was new.

Turning back to the man handling him, “Anderson, girlfriend back from Spain yet?” Anderson dropped his hands from Sherlock's collar “You didn't work that out just now, somebody told you!” Anderson hissed at him. Sherlock's smirk only got wider, “No your deodorant told me.” confused he asked “My deodorant?” Straightening the lapels on his coat he replied “It's for men.” “Well of course it's for men, _I'm_ wearing it.” Slipping out of arms reach Sherlock laughed, “Yeah, but so's Donovan.” then he winked and ran down the now empty hallway.

He locked himself in the practice room at the back of Miss Fitzpatrick's room. She is... tolerable, lets him use the practice room during his study classes and doesn't ask him stupid questions. Setting his violin case on the table, he lifted out his pride and joy. Tuning the violin and placing it in the correct position is like breathing to Sherlock. He let the bow glide over the strings, taking a deep breath he began playing Vivaldi - Violin Concerto in A minor RV 356 Op 3 No 6. When Sherlock has bad days he likes to play fast, it lets him concentrate on something else entirely.

He never needs to use sheet music, as soon as he reads the sheets once he knows it off by heart. Perks of being Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock moves to his music, when he was younger he took ballet classes, quite an elegant young man. So as he plays he dances gracefully, nothing to big just small steps in time and never faltering. Finishing he quickly moves into a concerto in B minor, RV 390: II Allegro non molto. Sherlock's mind is blank, all he can do is play, this of course makes him quite vulnerable, so he doesn't notice that someone has been watching him until he finishes. Shaking his head and seeing his hair fly about he finally feels someone's eyes on him.

Sherlock whirled around to see another boy staring at him through the window, mouth slightly open, looking like shock? “It's open.” he says loud for the other boy to hear him. “Sorry, uh, I was just looking for Miss Fitzpatrick.”  
Sherlock was studying the boy in front of him, _definitely new, I would have remembered this one._ _Not very tall, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, muscles, sport maybe? Football? No something with more contact, rugby perhaps? Explains the way he stands, military stance, father in the military, must be high ranking too. Shirt, wrinkled, slightly untucked, he has changed recently, must be in a hurry as he is wearing his rugby shirt underneath._

A cough interrupted his thoughts. “Hello?” Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet his. “Free class. Try the staff room.” then he turned away from the boy again, “Close the door on your way out.” “Um thanks.” a light shuffling of feet, click of a door and Sherlock was alone again. He didn't need to worry about missing class, Mondays were his favourite, he was free after break until after lunch, which meant 3 and a half hours of playing.

The end of lunch came sooner than Sherlock would have liked. He placed his violin in its case and put his favourite coat back on which stopped just above his knees. Grabbing his bag and the case he left the practice room, completely ignoring the looks Miss Fitzpatrick's class was giving him, he gave her a small smile which she returned and then walked out with his coat flapping behind him.

Chemistry next, he liked the subject not the teacher. _Not everyone can be as clever as us_ said Mycroft when Sherlock was complaining about her. She didn't like how Sherlock would always correct her. Walking into the lab he was glad to see that he was the first one there, _good,_ he sat down at the back, his usual place and took out his books and closed his eyes. _Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen._ It was a fun pass time, rhyming off the periodic table when he was bored. Of course rude interruption is not far away.

“Oh look the freaks already here.” his concentration was shot and his eyes snapped open, a different group of guys, just as stupid as Anderson though and not worth his time. “It's always creepy when he does that.” one of the boys said, trying to be quiet. Sherlock just stared at them until they got nervous and sat down, then he smiled to himself. _Must you make people uncomfortable all of the time little brother?_ “Shut up Mycroft” muttered Sherlock, “Sorry Sherlock did you say something?” Miss What's-her-face asked, he just shook his head and looked back down to his book.

A knock came at the door and the same boy from the practice room stepped in, nervously, _not important, yet somehow intrigued..._ “Ah yes, I was told you would be coming. You can sit down next to Sherlock there at the back.” The whole class froze and looked at this boy, silent comments were passed to him as he walked passed such as “unlucky.” “good luck mate.” OK now Sherlock hated this teacher even more. Sherlock doesn't do partners. He moved his book out of the way to make room, the boy sat down quite nervously and the class resumed. The boy turned to Sherlock and stuck out his hand, presumably to shake and whispered,

“John Watson. Nice to see you again.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switching point of views to John.  
> Warning - This chapter contains graphic self-harm descriptions. Please proceed with caution.

John had no idea where he was. He had to look for.. _Miss Patricks? No.. Miss Uh...shit how am I supposed to find a teacher when I don't even know her name._ Walking around the corner he saw a door with 'MISS FITZPATRICK MUSIC' written on it. _Well that's convenient._ He thought as he knocked on the door, no answer, he went in and, _damn it!_ No one was there. _Wait what's that noise? It's a violin John honestly._ Shaking his head he walked towards the room at the back, the violin was slightly louder but not enough that it would distract a class, _soundproof._

He figured that Miss Fitzpatrick would be there. _Well unless Miss Fitzpatrick is a silver off six foot tall and has the most unruly hair in the world, I really doubt that would be her._ Then he recognised the music, _Vivaldi, impressive._ Then the stranger started to dance to his music, ballet John thought. Not a note out of place as he moved with grace, John was entranced. The boy stopped, tensed, then whirled around, shock was evident on his face. “It's open.” The boy stated and then turned his back on him. _Ah yes I had a teacher to find._ He opened the door but didn't step in, “Sorry, uh, I was just looking for Miss Fitzpatrick.” The boy side eyed him, saying nothing, John felt as though he were under a microscope. The boys eyes were travelling down, not leering, just studying.

 _OK now this is uncomfortable._ “Hello?” the boys eyes snapped up to reach his. _Oh now that is fascinating,_ John thought, looking at the boys eyes he saw that they weren't just one colour, they were blue, green and grey all at the same time. “Free class. Try the staff room.” he broke eye contact and then faced away from John. _Wh- oh the teacher._ “Um thanks.” he shuffled a little to reach the door and then softly closed it.

_Well that was odd._

It took him ages to find the staff room and still she wasn't there, it wasn't too important so John decided it would be best to leave it until tomorrow. He didn't have class right now so John went to the gym for an extra workout session. _97, 98, 99 -  
_ “Hey mate. John right?” came a voice from behind John. One more pull up _100_ then he jumped down onto the ground. “John. John Watson.” he said hitting the other boys outstretched hand in an informal hand shake. “Greg Lestrade. You're the new guy, saw you at one of our practices. I think you have good potential mate.” John definitely wasn't expecting this “Well, thanks.” John was slightly speechless. “Mind if we join you? We can get you caught up on what's what.” John looked around the empty gym, “Well help yourselves.”

OK so these boys weren't so bad. Greg was funny, bit of a git but isn't everyone this age. Just typical 17/18 year old guys talking about girls, cars, parties. They spent an hour just working out together, talking and joking. One of the guys piped up “So John what classes are you taking?” John stopped the treadmill and picked up his water bottle and spoke slightly out of breath. “Uh, P.E* Biology, Chemistry and Maths.” Everyone just stopped and looked at him. “Are you trying to bury yourself in work?” Greg chuckled. Then one of the guys piped up, a different one this time, “Wait, guys he's got three classes with that Holmes kid.” _Who?_ John thought, murmurs were heard around the gym.

“Who's the 'Holmes kid?'” Greg waved his over to the space in the middle of the gym and sat down, everyone else did to. Greg spoke up “Sherlock Holmes, very...weird, most people call him a freak.” John felt a bit of sympathy go out to this kid. “Seems a bit harsh if you ask me. Why is he a freak?” Another one spoke up, Frank I think his name is, “He knows things mate, like about everyone, without you even saying a word he'll know what you've been doing and even what your thinking.”

John chuckled, “Oh come on. That's impossible, without even speaking to them?” Greg shook his head “No mate, I've heard him do it. I think it's pretty cool to be honest, others don't take to kindly to it, call him a freak, rough him up a few times.” The thought that someone just beat a guy up just for knowing things made John angry. “You'll meet this guy soon enough anyway, you're in three of his classes. Try not to punch him in the face though.” John scoffed “He can't be that bad.”  
The bell went so they went to the showers and got ready for class. “I have Chemistry now. Sure I'll tell you how it goes. What does he look like?” John asked Greg who just laughed, “Trust me, you'll know him when you see him, the kid sticks out.”

He was a bit late, the teacher would understand, he is new. He knocked and stepped in but before he could say anything the teacher spoke “Ah yes, I was told you would be coming. You can sit down next to Sherlock there at the back.” the room went quiet and everyone was looking at John. He looked at the back of the room and, to his surprise, saw the boy from the music room, the one playing the violin. _He didn't seem so bad when I first saw him._ He started to walk to the back of the room and could hear quiet comments being thrown his way such as “good luck mate” and “unlucky.” The boy, _Sherlock_ , moved his book over so he had room. _Well that is polite._ John pulled out the stool and sat down nervously, he didn't pay John any attention, just kept reading. _Be polite John._ The class was no longer looking at him and the teacher had carried on so he turned slightly to the left and held out his hand slightly.

“John Watson. Nice to see you again.”

 

(Sherlock)

 

He stared at the boys outstretched hand for a moment, he turned and shook his hand slightly. _Firm grip. Definitely a military background._ “Sherlock Holmes.” “Now then, for this task I want you to work with your partners. Sherlock make sure John gets caught up on this weeks work. The project is due on Monday. You can start now.”  
Then of course the sniggers came from around the room, all muttering “the fag will love that.” in some way or another. _Don't listen to them Sherlock. Don't. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP._ He didn't realise that he had balled both of his hands into fists and was now shaking. “Are you alright Sherlock?” John looked...concerned. _That's new._ “Fine.”

 _Just be forward but not too forward. You can do this._ “I'll uh... be in the here after school if you want to work on the project together with me.” ' _Together with me? Really Sherlock?_ ' He didn't think John noticed and if he did, he's not showing it. _Thank **god**! _ “Sure.” he smiled and Sherlock couldn't help a small smile appear on his face. “Oh look here guys. The fag is smiling. Must be crushing on the new guy.” and the class laughed.

 _THAT'S IT!_ Sherlock stood up quickly and his stool fell backwards, he grabbed his books and his bag and half ran half stormed out of the class but before the teacher could say anything the bell went.  
Running into the boys toilets he went to the end and locked the door. He took off his coat and hung it on the door then closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, he unbuttoned the shirt cuffs and carefully rolled up the sleeves of his grey shirt he examined his arm. His arm was covered in scars, healing cuts and fresh cuts. Straight white lines covered his skin from his wrist down a quarter of his arm, the healing cuts, lines that are scabbed over and bumpy, covered the middle section of his arm. Then from the middle up were fresh cuts, this morning to be exact, still bright red, stinging, yet calming.  
He leaned forward and stuck his hand into his pocket pulling out a small clear bag. Where he keeps the blade to keep it clean, he loves the shine on a clean blade being tarnished by his blood. Sherlock smiled. He lifted out the silver object and put the bag back in his pocket. _Look at you Sherlock. Damaged. Ruined. A Freak. Alone._ His eyes already blurry with tears, he took the blade in his right hand and rested it at his wrist putting the tip to his skin. _Leave. Me. Alone._ With a slight pressure he dragged the blade across his skin and everything turned to slow motion. The blade making a small incision and for a small moment everything was still, almost perfect, that was what Sherlock craved. But it was quickly lost and then small a thin line of blood came slowly pouring out of his skin.

 _No! NO! I need that again. I **need** it! _He moved down his wrist creating another line, feeling that moment of perfection, bathing in it and just like every other time he lost it as soon as he got it.   _Worthless. Disappointing. Stupid. Freak. **FREAK!**_ The tears streamed down his face, one dripped and landed on one of the open wound. It stings but Sherlock doesn't mind, he just needs to feel that moment of security he doesn't notice the 5 cuts seeping blood, running down his arm, down his hand. “Shit” he muttered and carefully placed the blade on his thigh, grabbing some tissue he started to try and control the bleeding. After a few minutes, that felt like hours, he had wiped up most of the blood and they had stopped bleeding. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to make the tears and redness go away. Now he was just dying for a smoke. Carefully he pulled his sleeve back down, cleaned his blade, put everything away, put on his coat. Stuffed the biology book in his bag and made sure no one was in the bathroom when he left.  
Sherlock made his way through the empty hallway, turning corners without even thinking, before he even knew it his feet had dragged him to his favourite place in school. Around the back where the trees are, the middle one is Sherlock's tree, it's a blind spot, somehow none of the rooms can see this one tree and Sherlock likes that.  
He lifted out the packet and shook one out, putting it between his lips and lighting it. The first drag of a cigarette is Sherlock's favourite. He throws his head back and blows out the smoke into the chilly air. _My my little brother, skipping class already. It's barely been a week.”_ the disappointment coming from Mycroft is nothing new, even if it is just in Sherlock's head.

He closed his eyes, feeling the cool breeze run through his hair. He smoked until the end of school, by which time he had gotten quite cold. He finished his third cigarette, letting it fall through his fingers to the ground and stamping on it. He put his bag over his good arm and up his shoulder, careful not to brush his arm against anything. He took a deep breath and starting walking back towards the school, his coat tails fluttering in the wind behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Sherlock! It will get better I promise.
> 
> *P.E - Physical Education. All that sporty stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After school Chemistry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short. The next one is to be longer and we finally get to meet Mycroft.

Sherlock made his way to the Chemistry lab, testing the handle he noticed the door was locked. He sighed and rolled his eyes as he took out a key from his coat pocket and opened the door. Strolling into the room he put his bag on the desk and took off his coat, draping it over a chair. Reaching into his bag he grabbed his Chemistry note book and his personal notebook he left the Chemistry book on the desk and took the other one with him to the teachers desk that she used for practicals.

5 minutes later as Sherlock was mixing two reactive chemicals together John chose that precise moment to walk through the door and momentarily cutting off Sherlock's concentration. Adding more potassium than he meant to, “Down!” he shouted to John before hitting the floor, a second later the beaker exploded sending chemicals and glass everywhere. “Oh bugger.” Sherlock muttered as he looked at the mess.

“What the **hell** was that!” John's voice boomed into the almost empty room. Sherlock turned to look at John, “Experiment. My book is there copy it up then we can work on the project.” then turning back he started to clean up the glass off the table and the floor. John didn't know what to do with himself, this guy nearly took his own head off! “Um... what did you do?” Sherlock waved a dismissive gesture “Nothing you need to know about. Hurry up.”  
So, for the next 15 minutes John sat and copied Sherlock's notes while the mop headed teen mixed chemicals, wrote down reactions and muttered to himself. John had just finished when the flask that Sherlock had been using shattered, it was unexpected and Sherlock got hit in the face by pieces of glass. “Fucker!”

John got up and walked quickly over to Sherlock and saw a small scratch that started to bleed on his cheek. “Let me see.” “I'm fine.” John held up a finger to shush him “Let. Me. See.” He guided Sherlock over to a stool and then carefully examined the scratch. “My dad's a doctor, taught me a few things.” “He must see a lot of this then in war.” John's hands faltered for a second, “How do you know that?” Sherlock chose this moment to swivel on the stool and stand back up. “Isn't it obvious.” John frowned and dropped his hands by his side “No. Well not to me. How did you know?”

“I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut and the way you hold yourself says military. So there must be a military connection, I'd say you went to some sort of boot camp? Military school is more likely as you don't forget about it once you left. Then of course you mentioned your dad is a doctor, so, dad's a doctor and you hold yourself in a military position. Military doctor in war. Easy.” While Sherlock was talking he was moving about the room, to anyone else it would look as though he was just walking and talking but John noticed what he was doing. Sherlock was putting distance between John and himself, as if Sherlock knew John would hit him or give some kind of abuse. What happened next was most definitely unexpected.

“That... was amazing.” Sherlock's eyes widened and he stopped moving “Do you think so?” John nodded, he was also now occupying the stool Sherlock had been on “Of course, it was quite extraordinary.” “That's not what people normally say.” Sherlock replied warily, moving over to the lab table. “What do people normally say?” Sherlock looked John in the eye “'Piss off'!” John let out a soft chuckle.

The buzz of Sherlock's phone cut through the air, Sherlock fished the phone out of his pocket.

_Father is due home early. I suggest you move quickly. - MH_

Sherlock visibly stiffened, the blood drained from his face. “You alright mate?” he could barely hear John over the roar in his ears. “Uh, yes. Sorry need to go.” Then he started collecting all his stuff. John frowned “Aren't we doing the project?” Sherlock cursed. “Right. Um. Here.” he wrote his number down on a bit of paper and handed it to John. “Text me whenever.” He grabbed his coat and bag and ran out. Leaving a very confused John in his wake.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so so so so sorry!!! I know this is later to when I usually post but there was a bereavement period when I had stopped writing.   
> I should be posting more regularly now.  
> I also know this chapter is short but due to the time I spent away from it, I felt it would be better to finish it and start again in the next chapter.

Sherlock ran through the corridors and outside, to his dismay it was thunderstorm weather. He could hear the thunder booming over his head as the torrential rain kept falling. Great, I'll be completely soaked by to the bone by the time I get home. Then he took off, sprinting as fast as he could the rain making it hard to see. After 10 minutes of running Sherlock felt his lungs burning, No no don't stop. I need to get home! He inwardly shouted to himself. Sherlock allowed himself 30 seconds to catch his breath and then began running again, he was drenched, the water soaked through his clothes and were irritating the cuts on his arms. Almost home, keep going. Oh please don't be home. Sherlock realised he was in his familiar street and slowed a little, jogging to the end of the street to his house. He could hear the familiar engine of his fathers car, SHIT SHIT SHIT! He was sprinting again, then turned off early into the 'garden'. Looking up to his room he saw his window was open slightly. Oh Mycroft I love you. 

Sherlock grabbed the strap of the bag and pulled it over his head to secure his bag. He climbed up on the small wall at the side of his house and placed his foot in the familiar slot on the pipe that runs up the side of the house. He climbed up the pipe with ease, due to practice, quickly pushed the window up more and clambered through. He heard the car door slam, taking off his bag he left it on the floor and then began quickly pulling and peeling his wet clothes off. Front door slams. Sherlock grabs the nearest jacket and quickly zips it, now standing dressed in his drenched boxers and a hoodie. He could hear hushed voices and a scuffle of some kind downstairs then the familiar creak of the stairs, he froze, no not dad... Mycroft.

A knock came at the door, “What Mycroft?” “May I come in Sherlock?” He sighed “Never stopped you before.” The door handle clicked and in walked the older Holmes brother.   
Mycroft Holmes, 22 years old and already has a job in the government. Goody two shoes. Dressed in just a shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, his slacks and also carrying a towel. He walked cautiously into the room and sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed. “Come here.” Mycroft spoke gently as he patted a spot on the bed for Sherlock to sit. Sherlock groaned and moved about on the bed and sat with his back to his brother.

Mycroft took the towel in both hands, reached up and began to gently dry Sherlock's messy, wet hair. “I was at the school.” “I know.” “I was My-” “Sherlock I know.” “They wouldn't believe me.” Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper and Mycroft had to strain to hear it. Mycroft pulled the hood away from Sherlock's skin and dried below his neck, “Can you really blame them. We've all heard that one before Sherlock.” Mycroft bumped Sherlock's arm by accident, causing Sherlock to hiss in pain. “Sherlock.” Sherlock tried to get up but Mycroft held him back. “Show me, Sherlock.” Sherlock turned to face Mycroft and stopped. He sucked in a breath, no. 

Mycroft's right eye was red and slightly swollen. Mycroft couldn't look at Sherlock, “I'm fine Sherlock.” Sherlock reached out carefully touching the edge of the swollen area, Mycroft winced. “I'm going to kill him.” Sherlock spat through his teeth. “Sherlock leave it. Stop changing the subject.” He pulled Sherlock back down onto the bed facing him this time, his hands were strong but gentle as he pulled up the sleeve. His eyes widened at the sight, “Sherlock.” his voice was barely above a whisper. Sherlock kept his eyes down, no this was not a time for words. Mycroft pulled Sherlock's arm and wrapped his arms around him, one hand on his back and one wrapped in his damp curls.

Soon Mycroft felt is shirt getting damp and simply held his brother closer. Time passed, they didn't know how long it was before Mycroft pulled back and wiped the tears from Sherlock's eyes. “You're strong Sherlock. So very strong.” Sherlock met his eyes and gave a weak smile “Stronger than you?” Mycroft chuckled, “Don't bet on it.” He ruffled Sherlock's hair and then got up and left before Sherlock could ask any more questions.

The door reopened seconds after, “What did you forget, Mycroft?” he turned his head and instead of Mycroft standing there, it was his father.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHO'S BACK!!!!  
> Thank you all who have been so supportive and waited for this to continue. I have my mojo back (but also my last year of school so bleugh.)
> 
> A special thank you to The_Firebird and Asaki99 who have been with this from the beginning. I couldn't have continued without your support.
> 
> WARNING!!! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SERIOUS TRIGGERS!!! PLEASE THINK OF YOURSELF BEFORE READING!!! YOU ARE WARNED!!

Sherlock tossed and turned, aggravating the fresh cuts and bruises on his stomach and face.

 

“ _Stop! Please!”_ Sherlock cried out, the punches kept raining down on his face. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, he gasped trying to take in as much oxygen as possible. His father stands above him, he lifts up a knife and raises it above Sherlock's chest...

The scene changes... he's standing on a ledge, the wind dancing through his curly locks.

“ _Sherlock... Sherlock please... come away from the edge. Come on Lockie... please, don't do this..._ ”  
_“...Sherlock?” Sherlock looked down,_ _ **'Do it. Jump. JUMP! He doesn't need you. He doesn't want you!'**_

 

Sherlock startled himself awake. He winced as he lifted his head from the pillow, the cuts throbbed and Sherlock squinted his eyes to get used to the dark. _'How long was I out?'_ He sat up hissing in pain and moved to the floor length mirror. He tried to stand tall as he looked at the broken reflection of himself, unzipping his jacket he could see the problems;

 

_Too fat,_

_Hair too long,_

_Too curly,_

_Too tall,_

_Ugly,_

_Useless,_

_Waste of space,_

_Loner,_

_Too many scars._

_Who would want you? Who wants a broken pathetic person like you?_

_Pick one good thing about yourself and I'll leave. Go on. I dare you._

 

Sherlock tried to look for one. He really did. He couldn't see anything good about himself at all.

 

_I told you so._

 

His tears made the cuts tingle. He pulled his dressing gown from the floor and draped it over the mirror, he couldn't look at his reflection any longer. ' _End it. End it now.'_ Sherlock knew the voice was right, he should just end it, no one would miss him. His dad won't, Mycroft would bury his head in paperwork and eventually get over it and he didn't have any friends.

His feet began moving without his mind registering, he reached under the toilet for the familiar white bottle he's held so many times. Sleeping pills.

 

 _Signs/Symptoms of an Overdose_ (Sherlock read it online.)

 

_Loss of consciousness_

_Blurred vision_

_Nausea and Vomiting_

_Dizziness_

_Decrease in heart rate_

_Drowsiness_

_Death...death...death_

 

_Do it! Come on, Sherlock! So close! You'll be free! Never to be called a freak again. Take the pills!_

He unscrewed the cap with shaking hands, the lid slipped through his fingers and bounced on the tiled floor. He poured a cup of water then sat on the cold tiled floor, setting the cup down he poured out 4 pills and popped them all in his mouth, taking a gulp of water he washed them down. He repeated the process as best he could with his shaking hands.

 

He sat back against the wall and waited for the pills to take affect. He felt a slight vibration in his front. _'Phone'_ he lifted it out of his pocket and had to try twice to unlock it.

 

**1 New Message  
Hey, it's John Watson from class. You ran away before we could continue... when would you like to do the project.**

 

Sherlock hit reply

 

_**To John Watson** _

_**Im npt coming bsck to school find s neww parternr. SH** _

 

Sherlock could feel the pills starting to pull him under, his eyes were drooping.

 

**1 New Message**

**What you mean your not comin back?????**

 

_**To John Watson** _

_**Took some pillls noy comkin back** _

 

Sherlock tried to stand, he was numb on the tiled floor, he used the wall for support and stumbled back into his room. His phone vibrated.

 

**1 New Message**

**WHAT?? WHAT PILLS?**

 

_**To John Watson** _

_**Goodbye John** _

 

The room began to spin, he was seeing two of everything and the movement made his stomach turn, or was that the pills? He vomited and then collapsed onto his bedroom floor.

The phone vibrated.

 

**1 New Message.**

**1 Missed Call.**

**2 New Messages.**

**5 Missed Calls.**

 

**10 New Messages.**

**14 Missed Calls.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so so sorry guys!   
> Life has been a mess lately, school work, personal statements, university choices and I popped my knee in and out and walk with a limp (even though it was two weeks ago) Drama accidents!
> 
> To make up for it my neglect, here is the longest chapter yet!

“ _ **The person you are phoning can't take your call. Please try again later.”**_

 

“Come on Sherlock, pick up!” That was the fifteenth call so far. ' _Ok, ok, think. I need to see him, can't contact him, who would know?'_

 

John scrolled through his contacts and hit **Greg** and **Call**.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg was asleep, a very good dream, a very very very good – ACDC interrupted his dream.

 

“No... I am not 'Back in Black'.” He groaned reaching for his phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“ _Greg? It's John, listen do you know where Sherlock lives?”_ Weird question Greg thought, especially for... 11pm.

 

“What? Uh yea, two doors down from me, why?”

 

“ _Greg I need you to go to his house and check on him! RIGHT NOW! I'll be there soon.”_

 

“Why?”

 

“ _He's taken something. Just hurry!”_ The familiar click told him John hung up.

 

Greg shot up out of bed, he pulled on his sweats and a hoodie. He tried to be quiet as he tiptoed past his sister and brothers room. Once he was clear he ran to the door and pulled on his trainers he grabbed his keys and went out the door.

 

The cold air hit him like knives and he could see his breath come out in little puffs, _'OK, get to Sherlock.'_ He jogged down the path and walked up to the door and knocked.  
The door swung open to reveal a tall, ginger haired, man. Greg met him a few times in the street. “Gregory? What can I do for you?” “Mycroft, I need to see Sherlock. Right now. It's important.” Mycroft's expression never changed, “He's asleep right now.” “John's worried he's taken something! I need to see him now!” he almost shouted at the older man.

 

Mycroft took off before Greg could say anything else, he followed Mycroft around the staircase, down the hall

“SHERLOCK” Mycroft's voice shook Greg to the core. Looking in the doorway he saw Sherlock crumpled on the ground, Mycroft knelt beside him and shook his shoulders. “Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up!”

 

Greg was stunned, he didn't know what to do. Mycroft was beginning to panic, that snapped him out of his trance and he rushed forward.

 

“Move back.” Mycroft didn't budge all his focus on his brother, “Mycroft move back.” He tried to gently push Mycroft out of his way, the older man was freaking out. “Mycroft, I need you out of my way!” Mycroft moved with him this time, Greg turned back to Sherlock, tipping his head back, checking breathing. Nothing...

 

“Shit! Call an ambulance. Tell them he's not breathing and CPR is being administrated, do it now!” He straightened Sherlock as best he could, placing the heel of his right hand to the centre of his breastbone and interlocked his fingers. _'OK Greg remember your training.'_

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5........30.” Taking a deep breath and pinching Sherlock's nose he breathed into Sherlock's mouth twice and then continued on.

“BREATHE DAMN IT!” He shouted at the lifeless body below him. After what felt like forever Greg could hear the sirens of the ambulance. _Oh thank God!_ Mycroft left the room to get the paramedics, Greg continued to do chest compressions, his arms were beginning to ache and the sweat was dripping from his forehead. He was nearly at his limit but pushed himself to go a bit further. “Come on, come on! Almost there, Greg. Do it for Sherlock.”

 

He heard multiple foot steps coming up the stairs, Mycroft rushed back into the room with the paramedics at his heels. “He's not breathing-” Greg shouted to them, “-Chest compressions for about 10 minutes.” “We need you to step back sir.” They said to Greg, and the teen dragged himself away from Sherlock's body. The man and woman kneeled on the ground either side of Sherlock, “Get me the defib.” The woman said and began to start chest compressions as the man unzipped the bag and lifted it out, placing the pads on Sherlock's bare chest.

 

_Scanning  
Scanning_

_Do not touch casualty_

_Scanning_

_Shock needed_

_Move away from casualty._

 

The man hit the shock button and Sherlock's chest rose off the ground.

“Still nothing, again!” The woman shouted.

 

Greg didn't know what to do, he was frozen where he was seated on the floor. His eyes glued to Sherlock's chest which was repeatedly rising off the ground as the shocks ran to his heart. _Come on Sherlock!_ He tore his eyes away from Sherlock and looked to Mycroft. His eyes were red and puffy, tears littered his cheeks and his hand was over his mouth, he was leaning against the wall for support, knees shaking.

 

“We have a pulse! Let's get him moved.” Greg's head whipped around so quick he thought he'd have whiplash. They were placing Sherlock onto the board and were beginning to move him out of the room at top speed.  
It took all of Greg's strength to pull himself off of the ground and over to Mycroft who hadn't moved, his eyes were glued to the spot where Sherlock was lying seconds ago. “Come on, Mycroft we need to go to the hospital.” Mycroft nodded and started jogging out behind the paramedics who were now placing Sherlock in the back of the ambulance. “Wait!” He shouted at the man about to close the door, he turned to Greg, “I'll see you at the hospital?” Greg nodded and Mycroft ran over to the doors and said to the man he was coming with him.

 

Greg was looking around and saw that there were now quite a few spectators, including his worried parents. He began walking over to them when someone shouted his name, he turned and saw John running towards him, he caught up to him panting. “What's happened?!” Greg couldn't think, too many images were running through his head, everything was coming to the surface, Sherlock lying there, pumping his heart, the shocks. He felt himself falling. Hands reached out to grab him and lowered him gently to the ground. Greg's eyes were unfocused, the blurry outline of John and his parents are coming into his view but he just cannot focus on them. His heart is pounding in his ears, _I can't breathe!_ His breaths starts coming out short and quick, he feels hands on his neck and a distant sound of someone saying his name.

 

“Greg? Greg, look at me.” Greg moved his eyes to the sound seeking the one who said it. He came face to face with John, “Greg, copy my breaths OK?” He started to copy John's slow breaths and could feel his heart start to slow down and his vision coming back. “Sorry, I don't know what happened.” he whispered to his dad.   
His dad put his hand on Greg's shoulder, “Greg, you should go back to bed.” “No, absolutely not! I need to see Sherlock.”

 

After seeing his mum off Greg, John and Greg's dad piled into their car and drove off towards the hospital. John turned to Greg who was staring out at the dark sky, “So...what happened?”   
  


“Um... well after you called I went straight over to his house. H-he was in his room, he wasn't breathing. I had to do CPR on him until the ambulance came, I tried but... I couldn't get him to come around.”

 

The rest of the journey was left in an uncomfortable silence. They pulled up outside of the hospital and John and Greg got out, “I'll text you when we need you.” Greg said to his dad before slamming the door and walking towards the doors. John was already talking to the nurse behind the desk and was then off again with Greg following silently behind. Around one of the corners sat a shaken Mycroft, hands in his ginger hair, head down.

 

The two boys slowly walked over to him, they didn't want to startle him. “Mycroft...” Greg spoke first as he knew John hadn't been introduced to him yet. Greg placed his hand on Mycroft's shoulder, Mycroft looked up, hands coming to rest on his knees, his back trying to keep good posture considering his height.   
“They've uh, taken him in to pump his stomach. They went in about 20 minutes ago.” His eyes were red and puffy and tear streaks painted his face, “I-”

 

“Mr Holmes?” Mycroft shot to his feet to the doctor that called him, “Yes, yes that's me. How's Sherlock?” Greg and John were standing behind Mycroft, “Do you want to go somewhere private, Mr Holmes?” The Doctor glanced over to the two younger boys, and Mycroft's posture clearly fell, “No, I want them here...Why... is something wrong?” The doctor sighed, “We've sedated Sherlock so that the drugs would flush out of his system and his body can repair the damage but my main concern is with his mental health, there were self-inflicted cuts all over his arms and thighs. Do you know anything about that?” His voice was soft and patient as he waited for Mycroft's reply, “No.. I didn't know.” Pause “Can I see him now?”

 

”Of course, this way. Room 221.”

Mycroft followed the doctor out of the waiting room as John and Greg took their seats, both reaching for their phones to text their families to tell them what was going on. Greg sent a quick text to his dad and placed his phone on the chair beside him. The waiting room was totally empty except for the two teenagers which Greg found a little odd. Every so often he would see a bed roll past the window with doctors and nurses giving out orders.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg was slumped in his seat, eyes drooping and his head lolling to the side every few seconds. He instantly sat up when a certain ginger haired person walked back into the waiting room.

 

“Hey, they said he'd be asleep for another while and I was wandering if you guys wanted to go in and see him?”

 

Greg looked at John who looked like he would probably kill Greg if he went in first, so Greg leaned back in his chair again and John said a quick thank you to Mycroft before practically running out of the room.  
He was about to fall asleep again when Mycroft spoke from his spot now by the window.  
  
“What's with this guy and my brother?” he asked not turning around.

 

Greg's groggy brain had to take a second to make sense of what was said, “Um, I don't know really, they only met yesterday. John was the one who called me to go see Sherlock tonight.”

 

“I suppose I should thank him properly then.” Mycroft said, not really expecting an answer so Greg didn't give one.

 

“I should also thank you too, Gregory.” Again with the Gregory- wait what?

 

Greg shot up straight, “Why..?” Mycroft still had his back to Greg. “Because, Sherlock could have – could have... died, if it wasn't for you-” Mycroft turns to Greg and he can see the bloodshot eyes and the tear streaks down his cheeks “and I am so grateful for what you did.”  
Greg got up and slowly approached Mycroft, when standing in front of him he spoke, “Mycroft, anyone would do what I did in that situation.” He didn't want Mycroft to think he was some hero. “No, you went way above the call of duty of everyone. Even... even I couldn't have did that and you need to know how thankful I am for that... if you weren't there, I never would have known. Sherlock would have-” Greg shushed him with a finger to his, surprisingly soft, lips. “Mycroft, you can't start thinking like that, it's one slippery slope you can't come back from. Sherlock is fine, we saved him.” He slipped his finger away and moved to caress his cheek.

 

“You saved him.” Greg has only realised that Mycroft's hand is on the side of his neck and his own hand was in a very affectionate place. _Oh God._ Mycroft leaned into Greg slightly so they were sharing the same air, “I don't know what I would have done without you.” Then Mycroft closed the gap and his lips were on Greg's. O _h holy wow._ Greg's mind was exploding, he knew it wasn't right, Mycroft was not in the right state of mind, Greg should pull away... but he just can't.

It feels so right.

 

Too soon Mycroft's lips were ripped from his at the sound of quick footsteps and someone shouting for the older Holmes. They quickly stepped away from each other when John jogged into the room.

 

“Sherlock's awake!”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Greg was sitting on the hard waiting room chair, his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. _What the hell was that?! Greg his brother is in hospital for goodness sakes!_ Greg was both annoyed and glad that John ran in when he did, yea the kiss was great but it shouldn't have happened. He ran his hands over his face rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes and sighed.  
He shouldn't be thinking of this here, he scolded himself and took out his phone to make a quick call to his dad.

 

{oOo}

 

Down the corridor Mycroft was sitting with a slightly groggy Sherlock. He has so much that he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to start talking, his eyes kept drifting over to his brother's arms that were now bandaged.

 

“If you're not going to speak get out.” The hoarse voice filled the room, Mycroft blinked.

 

“Don't be unreasonable brother.”

 

“Oh, so I am your brother now?” Mycroft scoffed.

 

“Don't be so dramatic Sherlock, you've always been my brother.”

 

“Only when it matters.”

 

“Again with the dramatics, Sherlock. You almost died, no sorry scratch that, you _**did**_ die.”

 

“Yes, so I've noticed. Thank goodness for paramedics.” Sherlock glared at Mycroft who sneered in response.

 

“Sherlock what were you thinking?” he said sternly.

 

“I was thinking of not dealing with you people ever again.” Sherlock was starting to raise his voice as was Mycroft. Mycroft opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock cut him off.

 

“No Mycroft. That's it, conversation over. Get out.”

 

“Sher-”

 

“I said 'Get out'! I don't want to see you in here again!”

 

Mycroft wanted to yell at Sherlock, saying how much he needed him, how he panicked when he thought he would lose him. Instead he got up grabbed his jacket and turned to leave but spun back around to his brother.

 

“Fine, you can speak to John instead.”

 

“Listen to me for once in your bloody life, Mycroft. I don't want to see you and I certainly do not want to see John either. Now. _Get_. _Out._ ” Sherlock yelled.

 

Mycroft turned back around and left, closing the door more harshly than needed startling one of the nurses. “Sorry.” He then headed back to the waiting room he turned the corner and froze. He had completely forgotten that Greg was still here, and he kissed him. He jumped back around the corner not knowing what to do. _Come on Mycroft, just go in and talk like a normal person._ He took a deep breath and walked around the corner to Greg who was playing on his phone. He looked up when he saw the older man approach him.

 

“Hey, how is he?” Greg sounded concerned which, to Mycroft, made him cuter. _Ugh. Stop it!_ “Um he uh. I'm not sure...” Greg looked at him confused “What do you mean?” “We uh argued so he kicked me out.” Greg patted the seat next to him, “I'm sure he'll come around, he's been through a lot.” Mycroft sat next to Greg noticing for the first time that John wasn't in the room. “Where's John?” Greg rubbed his eye, “Em, he left about ten-15 minutes ago to get coffees. He should be back soon.” He paused “Hey, maybe John can talk some sense into Sherlock?”

 

Mycroft scoffed, “Sherlock said he didn't want to see me or John.” he slumped back against the chair running a hand through his messy hair and sighed. “What am I going to do?” he asked no one in particular. Then an idea struck him, “Gregory.” Greg looked to him confused “What?” “Sherlock said he didn't want to see me or John, he didn't say anything about you.” Greg's eyes went wide and he started stuttering, “Uh, um, wha- um are you sure that's a good idea?” Mycroft took one of Greg's hands in his “Please Gregory, he might open up to you.” Well Greg couldn't say no to that, could he? He nodded, “OK, sure.” He got up and slowly made his way to Sherlock's room.

 

Knocking 5 times he entered and saw Sherlock sitting propped up against the pillows reading a book. Sherlock never looked up at him but spoke “Knocking five times? OCD?” Greg stuttered again, “Uh.. I guess.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What do you want Graham?” OK no that made Greg a little annoyed “It's Greg.” “Of course it is, George.” Greg moved further into the room “Haha, funny.” he said with a deadpan expression. “The only funny thing here is that you're nervous. Why? Do I make you nervous?”   
Greg couldn't do this, he couldn't talk to this boy, the boy he just had to save, the boy whose brother he just kissed. It wasn't right. He swallowed hard. “I'm fine.” Sherlock scoffed at that, “Sure thing Gerry, whatever you say.” “It's still Greg.” Sherlock smirked “It is? Since when?” Then the smirk was gone, “Actually, what are you doing here? Mycroft would have come in the ambulance and John would have found his way here, so why is Mr Lestrade standing by my bedside?”

 

Greg was looking at his jacket zip, trying to avoid looking at him. “Right, um, John rang me and told me that...you... you had taken something and needed help, so I ran to your house and told My- uh your brother that you were in trouble. When we got to your room he kind of froze and didn't know what to do, so I.. uh I had to um check you.” Greg looked anywhere but at Sherlock, he couldn't without seeing him pale and lifeless. “You weren't breathing so I had to do CPR until the ambulance arrived.”

 

“That still doesn't answer why you're here now.” Sherlock's eyes were burning into the side of his face, he could feel it. “John ran to your house from his so I had my dad give us a lift here.” “Hmm, and what happened between you and my brother in the space of that time.”

 

Wait what?

 

A wide eyed Greg replied “What makes you think something happened?” Sherlock smirked again “Well the fact that you have avoided using his name and also the answer you just gave, not to mention you look like a deer in headlights. So out with it, what happened? You make a pass at him when I was dying? That's low Graham.” Greg's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's “Your brother was the one who made the pass at me Sherly.” “It's Sherlock.” Greg gasped in mock horror, “It is? Since when?” Throwing Sherlock's words back at him. Sherlock merely smirked “Touché Lestrade.”

 

Greg laughed and stood up, “Right, I really should be off again, let you rest and all.” Sherlock nodded, his eyes were heavy. “Please, please take my insufferable brother with you. God, I don't know what you see in him.” Greg laughed again and nodded. “Goodnight Sherlock, we'll be back tomorrow.”

 

“Bye George.”

 

Greg left the room smiling and Sherlock nestled into the pillows ready to fall asleep when there was a knock at the door. “Oh what now.” he muttered to himself. “Come in.” He was expecting Mycroft to be saying something silly or one of the nurses but both predictions were wrong.

 

“John.”

_Dammit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't been posting quickly, sorry!  
> Hopefully you stay tuned for the next chapter: An awkward ride home and an awkward conversation. It's a whole lot of awkward for the Holmes boys.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock wouldn't look at the teenage boy now sat in his room. No... he couldn't look at the teenaged boy now sat in his room. He hasn't even said much, it's making Sherlock uneasy. “So um... when do you think you'll get out of here?” John asked, Sherlock just shrugged. “Are you feeling OK?” Sherlock shot John a look. “Right sorry.” “Is there a point to this terrible game of twenty questions?” Sherlock snapped. John winced slightly, “I just want to talk to you.” “Well, I don't want to talk to you.” Sherlock retorted but his mind was saying something else.  
 _Please stay. Don't leave me alone with my thoughts, please!_

“Oh, well then I'll talk and you can listen. Since we don't really know much about each other I'll tell you about me. I only recently moved here, my dad's an army doctor so he isn't around much. My mum's just really your typical mum. Embarrassing, doesn't know a thing about technology but can bake a mean apple pie. My sister Harriet is probably the most annoying person on the planet and-” “If I reply to your conversations will you please stop talking about your family.” Sherlock groaned. John smiled, “Absolutely.” Sherlock wanted it to sound like John talking about his family bored him to tears but really hearing about such a wonderful family made Sherlock wish he could have had that.

“What about your family?” John asks him, Sherlock shudders “Well you've met my brother, I don't know my mother and my father is out of town on business a lot.” John looks saddened, “I'm sorry.” “I don't need your pity.” Sherlock spat at him. “No, no. I mean I know what it's like to barely see your parents that's all. I can relate.” _Hah._ Sherlock thought “What's your favourite colour?” Sherlock snorted, “What are we five?” “Well I know nothing about you so I need to start somewhere.” Sherlock thought for a moment, “It's purple. Yours?” “Blue.”

The boys talked for the next hour, talking and laughing about a few things. Soon both boys began yawning. “I should probably go. School tomorrow.” “Oh. Yes, of course.” _Stupid Sherlock, what were you thinking keeping him up all this time?!_ “I'll come by tomorrow after school.” Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet John's “You really don't have to.” John smiled “I know but I want to. Will you be OK?” John asked tentatively, “I'll be fine. I'm in a hospital.” John got up and grabbed his coat. “Goodnight, Sherlock.” “Goodnight.”

Watching the door close behind John was very hard, he didn't want to be left alone. _Such a baby for wanting company. How old even are you?_ Sherlock shook his head and lay down trying to get to sleep. _He'll go into school and laugh about you. Everyone will know. Everyone will laugh at you._ Sherlock fell into a stressful sleep.

{oOo}

Mycroft and Greg were waiting outside for Greg's dad. It was cold out and the boys could see their breath swirling in front of them. Greg had gone into the waiting room to find John and Mycroft sitting talking, when Mycroft saw Greg he asked how Sherlock was. Greg told him some of what they talked about and said that he should go home for the night.   
While they were standing outside Mycroft reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, “Got a light?” Greg felt his pockets “Um.” Feeling the lump in his back pocket he took out a lighter “Here ya go.” Mycroft took it from Greg, purposely running his fingers along Greg's, “Thank you Gregory, do you want one?” “Go on then.” Mycroft put two in his mouth and lit them both and then handed one to Greg as well as the lighter. Mycroft smirked, “Aren't you a bit young to be smoking.” Greg smirked back but didn't say anything and just took a long drag of his cigarette. Mycroft moved forward without breaking eye contact and when Greg breathed out Mycroft breathed in all the smoke. Greg thought that was the most sexy thing he has ever seen in his life.

Flashing lights caught their attention as Greg's dad pulled up and Greg quickly put out the cigarette hoping his dad hadn't seen it while Mycroft quickly smoked the rest of his. Putting it out they both got into Greg's car. “Thank you for the lift home, Mr Lestrade.” “It's no problem at all son.” Greg smirked at Mycroft, “Suck up.” “They're called manners Gregory.” Greg's dad chuckled.

When they pulled up outside the house Mycroft froze at his gate, Greg told his dad to go on inside and walked over to Mycroft. He was about to speak but Mycroft cut him off, “I don't think I can go in there by myself.” he whispered his words almost getting lost in the wind. “You can sleep in my house tonight, if you want?” “Are you sure, Gregory?” “Quite sure. Come on. I'm sure I have something that would fit you.” He pulled Mycroft's sleeve and led him to his house.

Greg dimmed down the light in his room so he didn't blind himself or Mycroft, “Sorry about the mess.” Greg said as he started gathering up random clothes. “It's your room Gregory, I'm not here to judge.” Greg turned to Mycroft, “Why do you keep calling me Gregory? No one has called me that since primary school” Mycroft rolled his eyes, “Gregory is the name your parents gave you.” Greg shrugged, “Alrighty.” I'll go and find you some clothes.   
He came back with some sweatpants, a baggy t-shirt and a hoodie. “These should be long enough.” He passed them to Mycroft who thanked him. “Where's the bathroom?” “Just directly across the hall.” While Mycroft went to get changed Greg tried to make his room look a little less like a bomb went off and then got changed himself. Even though it was cold Greg heats up quickly in bed so he pulled on some shorts and was in the middle of trying to find one of his old football jerseys when Mycroft came back in the room. His eyes widened at the topless Greg and he blushed and turned away. “Sorry.” “No no you're OK. Just trying to find- Ah ha! Got it.” Greg pulled it on, “You can turn back now.” Mycroft turned back around but wouldn't meet Greg's eye, Greg tried his best not to smile at that and just barely managed to keep in a laugh.

“So um... Where am I sleeping?” Greg looked at him, “The bed is big enough for two, Mycroft.” He went to the side of the room and turned on a low lamp and then turned off the main light. “I hate the dark OK?” Greg said almost defensively, “I never said anything Gregory.” Mycroft smiled at him. They got into bed and lay facing each other Mycroft spoke first, “Thank you, Gregory. For everything you did today.” Greg blushed slightly, “You don't have to thank me, Mycroft” The boys both closed their eyes but under the pillows Mycroft moved his hand along and found Greg's, they laced their fingers and both, unknowingly to the other, fell asleep smiling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to write dark and depressing fics. I know there's been little Sherlock and John in the past two chapters but that will change within the coming chapters.


End file.
